


Criminannies: Assassins, Murder, and Onesies.

by shaunamac



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Babies, Babysitting, CRIMINANNIES, F/M, Gen, M/M, Moriarty is too excited for words, Moriarty struts his stuff in a onesie, Sebastian is exasperated, everybody else is either terrified or confused, mostly confused
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 20:57:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9566096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaunamac/pseuds/shaunamac
Summary: Moriarty, as it turns out, hired five incompetent idiots to work for him. Said idiots kidnap Sherlock and Irene's daughter, Gwendoline, and John and Mary's daughter, Rosamund. After a tense search of the country, the protective parents make a world-shaking discovery...James Moriarty loves kids!I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! More chapters on the way if you want them! Please leave a review with some constructive criticism!





	

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing for the Sherlock fandom, but I sincerely hope you all enjoy this! My eternal gratitude goes to my lovely friend, Ally, who helped me all the way!

James Moriarty was flying high. His empire was a huge, lethal, silent fortress, untouchable and booming. He was rolling in cash (boring) and favours (a little less boring…) and an intricate network of relationships that enabled him freedom and opportunities that the common man could only dream of. His employees and colleagues were stellar, running around, doing his bidding at the whisper of his desire, and if he ever fancied any excitement… Well. He had Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson to fulfil that role. Not to mention their colleagues. For something a little easier to monitor, he had Seb.

* * *

 

Everything was going beautifully. Flawless, in fact. Really, he should have anticipated a complete cock-up, but, alas… He did not. So one can comprehend his horror when not one, not two, but FIVE of his pawns swanned into his office, two of them holding pet carriers while the other three rocked back on their heels, gleeful over their actions. “‘Ello, boss.” The man in the middle, who just earned himself the name Prick, grinned. Sebastian silently filled the doorway, staring at the five with grave loathing in his eyes.  
“This better be good…” Jim eyed the Fucking Five warily as he adjusted his cuffs and rose from his seat.

“Nuffin’ better, if I may say so meself, Mister Moriarty!” The man on the far left beamed, unaware of his new name Gobshite. “In fact, we reckon this might be the best day of the year!”

Jim merely raised an eyebrow, returning his gaze to the pocket watch in his hand.  
“Yeah! We was mighty impressed with ourselves too!” The scrawny lad on the very end preened. Peacock? Nah. Jim could come up with a better name than that.

“Couldn’t have been done much nicer!” The fellow between Prick and Gobshite nodded with a satisfied smile, patting the pet carrier with pride. Arsehole. Arseface? Arseface was better. An apt description. Jim’s mental praise of his choice was cut short by a faint wail in the pet carrier. His body stiffened, and he lifted his head, staring at the opposite wall for a moment.

“What…” He asked quietly, “...was that?”

“Oh, probably the kid, ain’t it?” The other man with the pet carrier explained knowledgeably, resting a meaty hand over his container. Fuckface.

“I reckon them tranquilisers must be wearin’ out by now.” Peacock agreed unwisely. Peacock would have to suffice. Jim wasn’t sure if he had the calm temper nor the patience to come up with a new one. He stood up swiftly, straightened his tailored jacket, and stepped around his desk silently, striding over to them as he ran a hand down his mouth. Scratching his chin, he nodded slowly, as if weighing up what they told him.

“You took… children?”

“Yeah!” Fuckface nodded excitedly. Sebastian folded his hands in front of him and stood taller, his leather gloves making the faintest squeaking noise as he gazed at the five fools before him.

“And you tranquilized them?” Jim continued, resting back against the desk as he steepled his fingers, letting them hang in front of his crotch.

“Well, we didn’t want ‘em to be cryin’ when we got here, Mister Moriarty.” Arseface explained nobly, adjusting his grip on the pet carrier. Jim lifted his eyebrows and gestured to the table in front of them, beckoning for them to place the carriers down. Arseface and Fuckface did so gratefully.

“Now, gents, I couldn’t help but notice… You put them into pet carriers?” He forced a chuckle, making it sound genuine enough to prompt a waterfall of hoarse laughter from the imbeciles before him.

“Well, we didn’t want them to escape, boss!” Gobshite explained, eager to gain his praise. Sebastian chose this moment to intervene.

“If I may, sir?” Seb asked in a booming voice. Jim extended a hand to him, inviting him to say his piece. “These kids… They must be what, 6 months old? ‘Ow the hell do you reckon they’d escape.”

“Well,” Peacock began to brag, prompting a knock-on effect; his four associates puffed up their chests with pride; Jim tilted his head and turned to watch the floor with a shadow of a smirk on his lips, and Sebastian caressed the handle of his silenced gun with his fingertips. “They ain’t no normal babies, innit?” He cleared his throat. “That right there, is Sherlock Holmes’ little one, and the other is John Watson’s kid.”

“Well!” Moriarty lifted his head and clapped his hands together once, rubbing them briskly and walking over to the liquor cabinet. “I reckon that calls for a celebration! Seb, what do you fancy? Eh?” He ran his index fingertip along the glistening dark bottles.

“I believe this particular occasion calls for the Macallan, sir.”

“Excellent choice. Which one?” He mused, tapping each bottle with a glass until he settled on one. “1950?”

“Beautiful, sir.” Sebastian removed his gun and aimed it at the back of Peacock’s neck.

“It’s a rare one, but a fantastic specimen all the same. Like a good lover, gentlemen.” He poured out two glasses, then sidestepped over to his gramophone, leafing through a selection of vinyls before slotting in a smooth jazz. “Love a little music. Make sure not to get any on the Persian, eh, Seb?” He dropped two cubes of ice into each glass, then brought one up to the light, admiring the colour as Sebastian removed the safety switch.

“As you wish, sir.” He raised his aim to Peacock’s skull, and Jim deftly tossed each of his guests a cushion. Fuckface almost dropped his, and Jim laughed, wagging a finger at him.

“Almost! Almost!” He joked. Sebastian pulled the trigger while their attention was drawn, and Peacock collapsed, a perfectly imperfect red dot in the back of his scalp. Four rapid shots followed, cutting off any potential gasps, curses or pleads. Then, Sebastian holstered his gun once more, and retrieved his whiskey from the mildly impressed Jim.

“Thank you.” He grumbled, taking a slug from the glass. The Irishman twirled on his heel and deftly unlatched the carriers, before carefully reaching in and taking one of the babies out, tutting as he saw the tear marks on her cheeks. 

“Did those bad meanies hurt you, my dear? Hmm?” He cooed, passing her to the puzzled Sebastian.

“Sir, I’m not exactly a professional with kids.” He began hesitantly.

“Neither was Mother Teresa. Don’t let the name fool you, Seb!” Jim placed the infant into the assassin’s arms, causing the killer to awkwardly hold the child out at arm’s length. “Hello, gorgeous!” Jim continued to coo to the second baby, guiding her out of the carrier and adjusting his hold on her.

“Sir, do they have names?” Seb asked in a stiff voice, turning away to look at the consulting criminal.

“Oh, I expect so, Seb. Sherlock’s one probably has some bizarre Latin name. And John’s girl… Something boring and dull, I expect. Jane?” He beamed with pride as Watson Jr. wrapped her little hand around his index finger. “Seb, look!”

“Sir, maybe we ought to take them back to their family?” Sebastian suggested. Holmes Jr. gazed at him, her little face crumpling with tears. “Dear god, yeah, let’s, er, let’s just take them home--”

“Seb, are you trying to hurt the wee lamb?! Bloody… Here.” He set Watson Jr. down gently on the couch, and then turned to save Holmes Jr.


End file.
